The Weight Of Gold

The fragments of the shattered mirror lay scattered across the dusty floor, glinting like fallen stars beneath the dim light of the market stall. Iyi's breath came uneven, his hands still trembling from the weight of the images that had flashed before him—faces from a past he had tried to bury, lies he had told himself to survive, and the heavy truth he was only beginning to understand.

He sank onto a nearby wooden crate, his head bowed. Around him, the Market of Truth pulsed with a quiet, relentless energy—an energy that seemed to reach into the deepest corners of his soul, pulling at the threads of denial and fear.

The woman with the deep well eyes approached again, her gaze steady and unwavering. "The mirror lies," she said softly.

Iyi looked up, confusion flickering in his eyes. "But… it showed me everything."

She nodded. "It showed you what you want to see. The mirror reflects not just the face, but the soul behind it—and sometimes, what you see is a shadow of what you carry, not the full truth."

Iyi swallowed hard, his mind racing. "Then what is the truth?"

The woman gestured toward a small doorway hidden behind a curtain of woven reeds. "Come. There is a place where mirrors do not lie."

He rose slowly, following her through the curtain into a dimly lit chamber. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of sage and earth.

In the center of the room stood a pool of water, perfectly still and dark as obsidian. Around it were carved stones inscribed with ancient symbols that seemed to glow faintly.

"This pool," she explained, "reflects the soul's true image. It demands honesty without disguise."

Iyi approached the pool cautiously, peering into its depths. For a moment, he saw only darkness. Then, slowly, images began to surface not the shattered fragments of his past, but something deeper: his fears, his hopes, the hunger that had driven him for so long, and the potential he had yet to claim.

He saw himself standing at a crossroads, each path shrouded in mist. One led back to the streets he knew—full of lies, schemes, and quick escapes. Another stretched into the unknown, fraught with uncertainty but shimmering with the promise of growth.

Tears welled in his eyes. "I don't know which way to go."

The woman's voice was gentle but firm. "The way forward is never clear at first. It demands patience, courage, and a willingness to face what you fear most: yourself."

Iyi nodded, his heart heavy but resolute.

As he stood there, the pool's surface rippled, and a figure emerged—not a reflection, but a presence. It was Agba Oye, the man with the cowrie eyes, his gaze as penetrating as ever.

"You have come far, Iyi," Agba Oye said. "But the path ahead is harder still."

Iyi swallowed. "I want to change. To be more than the hunger that controls me."

Agba Oye smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "Then you must learn to listen to the spirits, to your heart, and to the silence between words."

He extended a hand, and from it, a small, glowing sponge appeared the third sponge, pulsing softly with light.

"This sponge holds your final trial. It is not about what you carry, but what you release."

Iyi reached out and took the sponge, feeling its warmth spread through his fingers and into his chest.

"I'm ready," he whispered.

Agba Oye nodded. "Then prepare yourself. The true test begins now."

Outside the chamber, the Market of Truth continued its quiet dance of revelation and judgment, but inside, Iyi felt a shift a subtle, profound change that hinted at the possibility of redemption.

He was awake, yes, but now he knew that awakening was only the beginning.